


Another Time, Another Place

by hiyuura



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiyuura/pseuds/hiyuura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, in a world that never was, in a place we never lived... KouMaki, one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Time, Another Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silverfoxspirit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=silverfoxspirit).



Makishima rarely dreams. His sleep is filled, mostly, with complete darkness. Behind pale eyelids, there is nothing but a vast landscape of black - a stark contrast of his ever-pure-white hue. It’d be a perfect imitation of death if he weren’t one light sleeper. His ears catch even the faintest sliver of sound; a gentle footstep might as well be enough to wake him. Whether his survival instinct has been sharpened due to the path he walks or it has always been so, he hardly remembers. At one point, when something has become routine, you stop caring when exactly is the beginning.

 

_Games have become games to kill off his boredom. Games have grown old and games ended without his expectations being satisfied._

 

Makishima rarely dreams. Even in his waking hours, he lives not a life of ambition but a much blander one. In a world where the weight of critical decisions do not exist, ambition has become a myth - a goal paved with hardship so glorified and striven for in the distant days. Why do they need ambitions? What now are human’s desires? In a place where words of Sibyl are humanity’s sacred gospel, desires are easily forged and hopes come to be replaceable. So people cling no longer to fleeting hopes. So people put faith instead on convenient prophecies.

 

_Over and over, and over again._

 

Makishima can’t say he has a dream, for even if he has proclaimed a wish for this city’s better future, in truth, his expectation is never held high. The song of destruction has begun playing, yet whichever path this society takes after the downfall of the Prophetess is little of his concern. Perhaps he just wants to watch the almighty Sibyl burnt to the ground… Perhaps he just wants to watch how these livestock who still call themselves mankind would react. And perhaps…

 

_That was until he met him._

 

He just wants to see the end of another game.

 

_Kougami Shinya._

 

Makishima rarely dreams. Even as a child, when he was presented the most wonderful gifts that would drive any bookworm whimsical, his sleep, most of the time, was empty. So he began reading more to fill that void. He reads of other people’s dreams; their ideas, their wishes, their reasons; their thoughts, their emotions, their experiences, their desires. Some are easy for him to grasp, some he finds too distant and difficult. Still, he wonders if he has picked the Holy Bible for this occasion solely for the sake of satire.

 

_“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. Anyone who loves their life will lose it while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”_

 

His fingers glide over the ancient text. Words long lost to this world echo in the room devoid of another soul but his. The automatic engine keeps on roaring as it receives a new order, transforming itself into a monster that will soon give birth to the death of this closed nation. Amber-coloured eyes slowly slide close as the sound strangely calms him, coaxing him into the arms of an even stranger sleep.

 

_Like a Prelude to the Ultimate End._

 

This time, he dreams. 

 

.

 

He dreams the strangest dreams. For these dream comes in vivid visions; so real as if they were memories replaying over and over except that they are of disparate settings each time. Like a lifetime told in one story, then retells itself with the same characters but diverged storyline.

 

_Once upon a time…_

 

He dreams of another time, another place; and then another…

 

_In a world that never was…_

 

He dreams of lives he never could have lived but might as well be possible if they were born in a world that is different.

 

_In a place we never lived…_

 

In one life, he and Kougami were born in houses next to each other’s. They grew up together, being closer than brothers of the same blood. When people saw one, they’d see the other as if the two were inseparable. Kougami often came over to read at Makishima’s home, and Makishima liked to sneak over to Kougami’s for afternoon snack time. Kougami’s mother was the best home cook. He smiled every time she offered her freshly baked madeleines.

 

They studied together when they entered school. Kougami was several months older, but Makishima was perceived as the more mature one. Just like when a sophisticate college girl broke Kougami’s highschool-boyed heart. On that day, Makishima gave him a punching bag sporting a humanoid shape while offering utmost solace from endless quotes of broken hearts. The next day, Kougami felt much, much better. He never told Makishima he put a silver wig on that humanoid form. Makishima still found out. The silver-haired boy said nothing, but amusedly smiled.

 

In another life, they were lovers. They completed each other like night and day, like black and white. In that life, sleep was no longer a forlorn act. For his dreams became bright and lively as his lover’s strong arms secured him through the coldness of nighttime. 

 

It is odd to feel many emotions - most of them he deems as foreign - stir within himself as this story unfolds. And yet, they somehow hit home, seeping through to his heart. He dreams of their first kiss on a hot, hot summer day, when the sky was the bluest blue, when they lay together on grasses green and lush. He dreams of Kougami’s fingers in his hair, tangling themselves so fondly as grey eyes gaze at him not with hatred but sincere love. It is weird how mere three words could bring someone close to tears.

 

_“I love you.”_

 

Only three words, and then engulfing joy.

 

In another life, they did not know each other. There were merely characters with their own roles in a massive crowd. Their paths crossed on that old train station every single day. They never talked. They were strangers. Until one day, one very foggy day, Kougami happened to be late and missed the train. He had to wait an hour for the next one, so he looked around for a seat. There, not too far from him, he spotted a Victorian-styled bench. The lamp post above it seemed to be the only one glowing bright enough - despite the hour - to penetrate the fog. Closer and closer, he stepped until he stood close enough to learn the bench was already occupied.

 

It’d have been a simple question and an even simpler answer, a typical permission to share that bench. It wasn’t. For the book in the silver-haired man’s hands was a good story. And soon their first conversation started.

 

_Perhaps it was destiny…_

 

Worlds after worlds swirl and blend together, fusing into one most familiar yet most boring in his eyes. He could have nicknamed it “The Town Where Sulfur Falls,” only that sulfur would never fall unless someone helps rain down the fire. For God is long dead in the Metropolis where Sibyl rules. Skyscrapers stand tall as if they were to pierce high heaven. Neon lights of various colours illuminate this sleepless city. Drones patrol the streets full of pedestrians who never care to stop and talk. A world where everyone is alone in their own cell.

 

This is his hometown.

 

He stands with his back to a wall built ridiculously gigantic. Its sheer size and whiteness seem as if it could wholly swallow him or had already done so. He stands there invisible as he gazes at the passing crowd. People come and go. People move so rapidly like the rush of water down the stream of fragile lives. People come and go, come and go, falling down that stream’s waterfall like meaningless, discarded pieces. Perhaps he too has come close to the end of his game.

 

A pair of deep grey orbs catches his eyes, and soon the man standing against the far opposite wall has his full attention. Black against white like a reverse mirror to himself, Makishima watches and listens as Kougami reads aloud from that one book he knows well:

 

_“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. Anyone who loves their life will lose it while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”_

 

Those words ring over and over as many pasts, many presents, and many possible futures flash before his eyes. A burst of colours. A flare of thoughts and emotions. A vision of what is, what will be, and what that never was. All happened and faded away like fireworks until the last image flickers and disappears with an echo of gunshot that keeps on ringing even when he reopens his eyes.

 

He had…the strangest dreams. Yet they bring a soft smile to his lips.

 

.

 

_Once upon a time…_

 

He stands atop the hill, half his body dyed crimson. He stands there, waiting, listening for that man’s footsteps through the sound of the wind rustling through golden wheats. The game has been fun, but no game goes on forever no matter how entertaining. It’s time for the curtain to close, and he will welcome death with open arms.

 

_In a world that never was…_

 

But there is still one question he wants to ask.

 

_In a place we never lived…_

 

“Say, Kougami, after this, will you be able to find a replacement for me?”

 

Makishima rarely dreams. He also thinks dreams meaningless and insignificant. Just like religions, just like those gospels people hold so dear onto. Still, he wonders if he has picked his final book out of complete satire the same way how he repeats those very last dreams in his mind as he waits for his game over.

 

_You and I…_

 

Makishima rarely dreams, but in his very last dreams, he saw worlds with different possibilities.

 

_Best friend. Brothers. Lovers. Strangers._

 

“…Sorry, but I hope I never do.”

 

_Enemies._

 

The silver-haired man lets out a smile. There comes that final echo.

 

_The kernel falls._

 

And then, the rest…is silence.

 

_He knows he has lived and will live an eternity._


End file.
